


It's A Sin

by lotsofbigangrybees



Series: All For Myself [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Feelings, M/M, idk like a lot goes on and it highkey got away from me, some of those in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25570033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotsofbigangrybees/pseuds/lotsofbigangrybees
Summary: “So, are we checking up on the safehouse, or is this another MILA situation? Or another super secret dead drop?” Deacon grinned from where he was rifling through the workshop, sunglasses reflecting the spotlights.
Relationships: Deacon/Male Sole Survivor
Series: All For Myself [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853056
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	It's A Sin

A sky full of twinkling, dancing, stars filled the sky, and alongside the full moon, bathed the Commonwealth in a silver glow. Outpost Zimonja, a microscopic settlement with the bare necessities, stood proudly in the north. A final stop before continuing into the Wasteland beyond. There were only a few permanent residents, most stopped for a rest before trudging on to a bigger settlement, like Sanctuary. Currently though, it was empty. The chirping of irradiated insects and the slow puttering of sentry turrets provided a harmony to the creaking melody of the main building in the gentle breeze. 

Two shadows were caught in the harsh spotlights, triggering an affirmative beeping in each of the turrets as they acknowledged allies. They were walking close together, each with a rifle slung over a shoulder, shoulders bumping. 

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have stayed in Sanctuary. Nobody actually knows you there.” Antonio’s feet were aching, the extra time it had taken to travel to the outpost had tipped him over the limit into exhaustion. 

“Sorry, boss. Special orders to check up on Mercer, you know how it is.” Deacon stretched and put his hands behind his head as he walked, scuffing his shoes in the dirt nonchalantly. Antonio’s shoulders sagged as they came up the hill, spotlights blinding. 

He’d had to make some adjustments to the outpost, at the Railroad’s request. It had been too open before, easy for a sniper to take unsuspecting settlers out; either from the hills in the distance or atop the dangling freeway. He and MacCready knew that from when they’d disposed of the raiders that were squatting there. Now it had a neat four walls, a closed off sitting area with sleeping bags, and two beds on an upper level that led to a balcony equipped to watch the horizon. Usually Antonio would ask Preston to spare a few Minutemen to keep watch over things, but with the casualties from retaking the Castle, it was up to the turrets. 

Antonio poked around the crops, pulling up a few weeds, before putting his hands on his hips and turning to Deacon. 

“So, are we checking up on the safehouse, or is this another MILA situation? Or another super secret dead drop?” Deacon grinned from where he was rifling through the workshop, sunglasses reflecting the spotlights. 

Since the bank, they’d entered into an agreement of sorts. Antonio would call it a relationship, but that seemed to be a surefire way to get Deacon to run off with threats of a face change. So, an agreement it was. A smart business move. Because, hey, who didn’t get worked up after roaming the Commonwealth for days on end in pursuit of an enigmatic bogeyman? 

It wasn’t much different to the prior arrangement, except now instead of returning to Sanctuary alone, Deacon would stay the night. Always in disguise, mind you. They’d fumble around in the dark of Antonio’s ruined pre-war home, careful not to alert Codsworth, pass out, and Deacon would be gone by morning. He tried not to think about it too deeply, since Deacon hadn’t changed much while they were on missions. 

The warm hand at the back of his neck while he picked off raiders in the distance, the hand on his chest when he stabbed a stimpak into his fallen companion, it was all coincidental. 

“What if it was both?” Deacon popped a gum drop into his mouth, chewing slowly, watching Antonio appreciatively. He smiled, removing his own sunglasses, brown eyes adjusting as he let Deacon read him. “Sweet.” Came the murmur, as he tossed the rest of the gum drops back into a drawer, disappearing inside. Antonio rolled his shoulders, poked a small, unripe melon with his foot, and followed. 

Deacon was draped across the beds on the second level, having pushed the beds together. Antonio huffed a laugh at the pose, which only caused Deacon to wiggle his eyebrows. He knelt down by the end of bed, resting his chin on his hands, face inches away from Deacon’s, staring straight into the sunglasses. He reached forward and tapped one of the lenses, chuckling as Deacon scrunched his face up. It was a question.

“Don’t tap the glass, it scares the fish.” And there was the answer. Still kneeling on the floor, Antonio reached for the back of Deacon’s head, bringing him forward. Their lips met, softly, tension lifting from both sets of shoulders. “C’mere.” Deacon rolled back, and Antonio took the invitation, kicking off his muddy shoes and moving to the bed, opting to sit above Deacon, straddling him. Their lips met again, still tentative, the sunglasses uncomfortably knocking against Antonio’s face. Deacon’s hands slid down to rest at Antonio’s hips, kneading softly. The kiss deepened, mouths relaxing and opening, exploring, but still gente. It was always gentle. 

Absentmindedly, Antonio ground his hips down, letting out a small huff of laughter as Deacon groaned beneath him. He repeated the action, and now it was as much for his benefit as it was to frustrate the other, a repetitive, rocking rhythm set at a slow pace, allowing for heat to pool deep in his stomach. Deacon leaned up, the hand not on his hip curling around the back of his neck, lips close to his ear. 

“This is nice, but I had plans,  _ Antonio _ .” He shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as Deacon whispered, low and calculated.

“Not like you to share your plans, Deek.” He managed in response, sighing as he felt Deacon work his way down his neck, stopping at the base of Antonio’s throat, forehead resting between his collarbones. 

“I know, especially after I spent so long  _ preparing _ .” His voice was muffled against Antonio’s skin, but it was impossible to miss the implication.  _ God, he didn’t- When did he have time?  _ They’d stopped at Sanctuary for what had seemed like a millisecond, just to check in on things, but Antonio couldn’t remember if Deacon had been with him the whole time or not. And, more importantly, they hadn’t done this before. Most of the Minutemen settlements were too crowded, walls too thin, doors with no locks. It didn’t stop others, but for Deacon it was too close. 

“Are you sure?” Antonio smoothed a hand over the soft ginger hair that had been growing steadily over the past two months. Deacon tilted his head and smiled up at him, cheeks flushed. 

“Just let me take care of you, Ant.” Deft hands peeled his jacket off, dropping it to the floor. His white button-up joined it, and he breathed in sharply as bare skin met the cold night air, but Deacon’s warm hands were on him quickly, running up his sides, caressing him, as he continued mouthing across the base of his throat, softly nipping every so often. Antonio closed his eyes, trying to even out his breathing, letting himself feel every touch, every kiss, every graze of teeth. They were both sitting, Antonio still straddling Deacon, grasping at his shirt. 

“C’mon Deek, you too-” He was cut off by nails gently scratching down his back, but he tugged at Deacon’s shirt again. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me into bed.” Deacon whispered, but obliged, white t-shirt lifting to reveal an expanse of pale skin, skillfully keeping his sunglasses in place. Antonio caught Deacon’s chin with his hands, tilting his face up to kiss him deeply, aching to convey every feeling through the touching of lips. Deacon broke away first, and paused, eyebrows furrowing, before nodding, as if coming to an agreement with himself. Antonio let himself be pushed back; down into the mattress, legs still wrapped around Deacon, who extricated himself carefully, before sliding down to rest at Antonio’s belt. He glanced up, and Antonio swore, despite the poor lighting, that he could see blue. Deacon reached up for his hand, which he squeezed in affirmation. The belt came undone easily, clattering as it slid over the side of the mattress. Antonio took a deep breath as the zipper was undone, and lifted his hips as Deacon slid his pants down, leaving him down to his underwear, which didn’t conceal anything. Traitor. His hand flew to his mouth as he felt Deacon mouth over the outline of his hardening cock, swelling beneath hot breath. 

A kiss to his hip bone, a hand gliding beneath the waistband to trace down his thigh, and a breathy chuckle as he squirmed. 

_ Fuck.  _

The hand not on his mouth flew down to Deacon’s scalp, carding through the emerging curls. His hips rocked involuntarily into Deacon’s mouth, straining against the fabric of his briefs. Deacon peeled them away, sliding them off his legs, a smile ghosting over his lips as he watched Antonio’s cock spring free. 

Antonio groaned, long and drawn out as Deacon licked a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, ending with a few pumps of his spit-slicked hand. He withdrew, silently removing his jeans and underwear, Antonio panting as he watched Deacon crawl back to him. It seemed to be the one time he was ever silent, actions over words. So he watched, eyes lidded as Deacon crawled on top of him, placing a bottle next to Antonio, and reached back, biting his lip as he restretched himself. Antonio propped himself up slightly, and put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder. 

“Can I-” Deacon nodded, and Antonio’s hand wandered back, skimming over the cleft of his ass, dipping to meet Deacon’s hand. He collected some residual lube on a finger, before gently pressing in alongside Deacon’s own fingers, sliding in with little resistance. He pumped slowly, in and out, adding another finger, feeling Deacon stutter on top of him, mouth falling open. 

“O-okay, yeah, let’s go.” It was the first thing he’d said in some time, and Antonio let his fingers slide out as Deacon pushed him down again, straddling his hips. Antonio let his hands rest on top of his thighs, gripping them to stop himself from thrusting before Deacon was ready. 

Shakily, Deacon lowered himself, lips pursed, eyebrows knitted, and behind the sunglasses, Antonio was sure his eyes were scrunched shut. He brought his hands up to cup Deacon’s face, stroking his cheek gently, watching his throat bob as he swallowed thickly, before exhaling and continuing his descent, placing a hand on Antonio’s chest, splayed across his sternum. He was a tight, intense heat, fluttering around Antonio.

Tentatively, he brushed a finger underneath the sunglasses, over a rosy cheekbone. Deacon didn’t respond, but Antonio could tell he was watching. He slid the hand back, breath hitching as Deacon shifted around him, and gently lifted the frames from his face. Deacon’s hand flew to cover his own, and Antonio tensed, he knew that Deacon was looking right at him, the stare burning through the lenses. 

“Don’t look.” The words were mouthed, and if they were audible the sound was lost to Antonio, but he understood. He let his hands fall, letting his mind wander back to the feeling of Deacon around him, turning his head to the side, ears pricking as he heard the telltale snap of glasses folding. 

But he didn’t look. 

But he could feel. Deacon was moving, rising up, and back down. A slow rise and fall that offered a hot friction, one that had Antonio shuddering, desperate for more, desperate to surge forward, to look deep into Deacon’s eyes and  _ move _ . But he wouldn’t. God, he was lucky Deacon was even here with him now. Deacon’s movements picked up speed, and Antonio’s cock ached as he heard the breathy pants, punctuated by a soft moan every so often. The slapping of skin on skin began to permeate the makeshift bedroom, and Antonio groaned as Deacon fucked himself on him, allowing himself gentle thrusts upwards, chasing the connection, the warmth, the feeling of being part of someone.

He felt Deacon’s hips stutter above him, an irregularity in his rhythm. Antonio allowed his hand to drift back up to Deacon’s thighs, snaking their way towards Deacon’s cock, carefully avoiding Deacon’s face, choosing instead to watch the sunglasses that rested on the mattress nearby. He jumped when he felt Deacon’s fingers brush his collarbone, before resting beneath his chin, tilting it up like he had done moments before. 

“ _ Please. _ ” This time, he heard the whisper, and let his gaze rake up Deacon’s body. A red flush had found purchase across his pale skin, and his cock sat, leaking and heavy, as he continued to bounce atop Antonio. He brushed his hand over a nipple, erect from the cold air, and Deacon inhaled sharply, then exhaled an  _ ah _ . His other hand gently rubbed across the head of Deacon’s cock, and after another moan, he cast his eyes up. 

They were blue. A shocking, electric blue. And they brimmed with emotion. With feeling. With heart. He brought his thumb across Deacon’s slit, and leaned forward to kiss him, jerking Deacon off between their bodies, panting as Deacon ground himself further down onto Antonio’s cock, melting their bodies together, leaning into the building pressure, chasing relief. Chasing an end. 

Deacon came suddenly, pulsing around Antonio, groaning into his mouth, fingernails digging into flesh, clenched tightly as his body was wringed out. 

Antonio followed, spilling inside, a high pitched keen tearing out from his throat, and down Deacon’s. 

Deacon collapsed on top of him, mind elsewhere, or nowhere at all, as he recovered. Antonio rubbed his hands up down Deacon’s back, desperately trying to commit his eyes to memory.  _ Who knows if I’ll see them again.  _ They lay there for a while, legs tangling together, Antonio still buried inside Deacon. The sounds of the night began creeping back in, reminding them of the world outside Outpost Zimonja. But for the moment it could wait. Antonio wanted it to wait. The comforting warmth of another body against his feeling like the first morning of spring after a long, dry, winter. He supposed that was somewhat literal. 

However, the chill night air snuck through the gaps, and despite their proximity the blankets offered little warmth if they were just going to lie on top of them. Deacon rolled off, wincing as he removed himself from Antonio. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, rummaging through his pack to find a cloth. As Antonio watched, his eyes followed the slow trickle of come that ran down his thighs, making his spent cock jerk in interest. Deacon flopped back on the bed, cloth in hand, and began slowly mopping away the streaks that were drying on Antonio’s stomach.

  
  


“Boy, we made such a mess.” Deacon sighed, and held up his hand. “So, do we high five now? Is that what people do?” He glanced rapidly between it and Antonio. He chuckled, a raspy sound from deep in his chest, and lifted his hand to Deacon’s, tapping it lightly before tangling their fingers together. 

“Usually they do something more like this.” He let their hands drop to the mattress, watching Deacon’s throat bob as he swallowed thickly. “Too much?” He felt a squeeze before the hand retreated back. 

“Just not used to it, boss.” Antonio shrugged, it was a different type of intimacy. The first part was easy, you let your body do the work, you didn’t have to think, just exist in the moment until it came to a thundering end. It felt natural, a simple escalation. But what came after was difficult. It set the precedent, if there was a precedent to be set. Antonio had set it the first time they kissed above Boston, inviting Deacon in for more. He was the one who would let Deacon in, explore the space, and build a place there if he wished. This time though, he couldn’t make the decision.

Deacon already knew that Antonio would be there, warm and welcoming, trusting. Antonio knew it made him a shitty spy, but that’s why he had Deacon there to make the cover work. They were a team, and they trusted each other more than was wise. He could ask the question, push things further into the light than they already were, but he would wait first, inviting Deacon once more to express his own desires. 

They lay in silence, the night sounds from outside the safehouse walls leaking in, mingling with the sounds of puffed breaths. A cold breeze squeezed through the slats of wood, old sheets struggling to provide protection from the chill. Deacon was warm beside him, sitting up with the sheets around his waist, lost in thought. Antonio watched him, finally able to study his features. His eyes were piercing, whether that was because he wasn’t used to seeing them or not was debatable, but regardless, they took up his attention. Vibrant blue, a compliment to the red hair that was slowly growing out. Antonio understood why he wore the sunglasses, Deacon couldn’t change his eyes, they were the one constant, regardless of the different faces he wore. 

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to stare?” Deacon’s voice was off, wavering ever so slightly. Antonio smiled as those blue eyes slid to meet his brown ones. He understood for a second time why he wore the sunglasses. He was easy to read. Uncertainty tainted the blue, but it melted away ever so slightly when Antonio reached a hand out to rest on his thigh, which poked out through the sheets. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“Says the popsicle.” Surprisingly, a warm hand was placed atop his, and Antonio watched, dumbfounded, as Deacon slid back to lie down, their noses almost touching. Their legs tangled together, and Antonio found himself even more perplexed when an arm was slung across his body, almost like- 

“Didn’t have you pegged for a cuddler, Deek.” 

“Actually, if you want to talk pegging-” 

“I really don’t-forget I said anything.” That seemed to be the tactic, joke until the personal question was forgotten. Deacon was off his game here, unsure and insecure. 

Antonio took a deep breath. “What is this, Deacon? What are we doing?” He placed a hand on Deacon’s cheek, tilting his face towards himself. He could feel a deflection rearing its head, so he pressed on. “Are we just partners who finish a job, find a safehouse, and let off steam? I need to know, before I go any further.” It was happening again, and once he started, he couldn’t stop, not until he’d said his piece. “I can’t run around after someone who doesn’t want me chasing. But God, Deacon I would chase you until my legs were broken. I’d even learn to lov- enjoy it.” Deacon was silent, eyes darting around the room, calculating the probability of escape. 

“You know I can’t do this stuff, boss.” But they were so close. Antonio had been chasing, but now his hand was outstretched, brushing the shoulder ahead of him. 

“But could you learn?” Deacon pressed a gentle kiss to Antonio’s lips. 

“I could try.”

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe it took me three weeks to write this and i only had the last part done and then i listened to sufjan stevens and did the rest of it in a day anyways im not confident At All with nsfw stuff but hey the heart wants what the heart wants  
> tumblr is @homebrandailis !


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